


you got a fast car (i want a ticket to anywhere)

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mates, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stisaac + "I got in my car and you were sleeping in the backseat who the hell are you and how did you get into my car?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	you got a fast car (i want a ticket to anywhere)

**Author's Note:**

> banshee-cheekbones on tumblr sent me the prompt: "could you do stisaac + "I got in my car and you were sleeping in the backseat who the hell are you and how did you get into my car?" (:"
> 
> link to tumblr post: http://maliaslydiamartin.tumblr.com/post/124659253409/could-you-do-stisaac-i-got-in-my-car-and-you
> 
> title from Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car'.

It’s 6am and Stiles is trying to cope on four hours sleep and one cup of coffee, so it’s only when he’s snapped his seatbelt into place and there’s a soft snore behind him that it actually hits him.

There’s someone else in his jeep.

He jerks so wildly that he bashes his elbow and knee on the steering wheel as he cranes his body around to look at the back seat. His heart’s pounding wildly, but there’s no monster crouched behind him, no crazy axe murder about to cut his head off.

Instead, there’s a guy around his age, fast asleep on the back seat.

“What the _fuck_?”

He doesn’t even stir. He looks completely out, face relaxed in slumber, lips parted slightly; soft snores escape him. He looks totally harmless; except for the fact that, somehow, he’s managed to break into Stiles’ jeep for a...for a what? An impromptu nap?

“What the fuck!” he says again, louder.

This time, the guy jolts awake, this wounded panicked sound escaping him as he scrambles upright. He presses back against the seat, eyes wide and terrified, like a wild animal cornered by a predator.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Stiles quickly holds his hands up. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re okay.”

Something about his words, or maybe the tone of his voice, seems to work, because the other boy seems to start to calm down, the rapid rise and fall of his chest evening out as he reigns his panic back. 

Stiles stays quiet and still, not wanting to spook the stranger more. For all he knows, the guy could be _dangerous_. Finally, he seems to have calmed completely, body still, his shoulders held a little tense, but mostly he just appears as confused as Stiles feels.

Now he’s calmer, Stiles risks speaking again. “I mean, I don’t know why I’m reassuring you. I’m the one who’s just found some random dude in my jeep, drooling all over my backseat.”

“I don’t drool.”

It’s the first words from him and Stiles raises his eyebrows in a _really?_ kind of expression. The guy’s voice is soft, pitched low, and he actually looks a bit sheepish at Stiles’ annoyed look. 

“I...had a nightmare.”

When he doesn’t say anything more, Stiles flails his hands in the air slightly. “Oh, yeah, totally, man. Say no more, I get it. Bad dreams about the time I accidentally saw my Aunt Edie naked always make me want to break into a stranger’s car for a little siesta.” When there’s no response, Stiles twists back in his seat to stop the ache in his neck. “Well,” he adds, “At least you’re not naked.”

“I’m not?”

At the sheer surprise in the guy’s tone, Stiles levels him with a look in the rearview mirror. “No,” he replies slowly, “You’re not.”

“Well, that makes this a little less horrible.”

Stiles tries to stop the little smile at the sarcasm, he really does, but he can’t help it. Dude’s got humor. “For you, maybe. How did you get in here?”

“It wasn’t locked.”

Stiles meets his gaze and holds it. He knows that’s a lie. He’s owned the jeep for eight years and he’s never once left it unlocked. The jeep had belonged to his mother; it’s one of the few tangible things he has left of her besides memories. It’s why he spends so much time and money keeping it running, when others have tried to convince him to get a better car, hand the jeep over to a junkyard. He’d never leave it vulnerable to being stolen.

He distinctly remembers the night before, coming home from a party tired and hungry, ready for bed. But he’d made sure to lock the jeep. Even double checked it.  
For the first time, he sees that this guy is more dangerous than he looks. His expression is gentle and innocent, blue eyes earnest, but Stiles knows the deception behind it. This man is used to lying. 

“Alright,” he finally says, tone even. “So...why?”

He watches as fingertips curl around the edge of the back seat, fingertips digging in. “Panic attack,” the words are bitten out.

Stiles feels himself soften, just incrementally, at that. He used to have them. He knows how rough they can be. He isn’t entirely satisfied with the explanation, but he realizes he isn’t going to get any kind of solid answer.

“Do you need a ride?”

A pause. Then a nod.

Stiles starts the engine. “Where to?”

The street he’s given is one he recognizes; he was there only last night, at Jackson’s Whittemore’s housewarming (how it can be called a housewarming when Jackson’s lived there all his life - it’s simply that his parents have given him the house due them downsizing in retirement - Stiles doesn’t really understand, but the party had been pretty good despite Jackson’s sour face at seeing him there). 

“Which number?” he asks as he pulls onto the right street.

“Nineteen.”

The house he pulls up outside of doesn’t exactly look lived in. The windows are boarded up and the glass on the front door is smashed; the inside looks dark and uninviting. The grass is overgrown, spilling over the path, and there’s a _For Sale_ sign jabbed into the lawn. 

“Are you sure this is...?” he starts, but the man is already climbing out. He closes Stiles’ door and heads up the path without looking back.

Stiles watches, curious, wondering if this guy is a squatter or something, or if he’s just going to break into a house for a nap now he’s been kicked out of Stiles’ jeep, but he simply tugs a set of keys out of his pocket and lets himself into the house. From what Stiles can see, no lights turn on, and after a quiet, still moment, Stiles drives away.

He’s late for work now and he knows his boss is absolutely going to grill his ass for it, but he still doesn’t rush once he gets to work, instead circling the jeep, inspecting it. 

Finally, he notices the denting on the passenger side where the door’s been forced open. It doesn’t quite close properly and he sighs, banging his forehead against the cool metal as he thinks of how much that repair is going to cost.

“Stilinski.”

He jumps at the sound of Danny’s voice, straightening. Danny raises an eyebrow at him, glancing at his watch.

“Better get inside. Jones isn’t in a good mood.”

Stiles nods and grabs his bag, clapping Danny on the shoulder as he heads inside. He tries to discreetly get to his desk, sit down and start working, but he’s grabbed as soon as he enters the office. 

By the time his boss is finished chewing him out, the morning’s incident has completely passed from his mind.

 

***

“You have got to be kidding me.”

This time, Stiles spots him as soon as he gets close to the jeep. He frowns, unlocking the jeep, but pauses and rounds the jeep to check the passenger side. Once again, it’s been forced, and he swears. Loudly. The first repair had cost him a big chunk of his month’s wages.

He climbs inside the jeep and looks at the guy for a moment. He’s still fast asleep and Stiles scowls, snaps his fingers in front of his face. He instantly feels a little bad at the man’s reaction, which is pure and sudden fear, just like last time. It takes a while for him to calm down, coaxed by Stiles backing off and reassuring him in a level, quiet voice, and by that time, most of Stiles’ initial anger is gone. He’s just confused and annoyed now.

“You owe me four hundred and fifty dollars,” he says, then glances at the door. “Nine hundred now. And a good explanation for my mechanic.”

“I didn’t do anything to the door.”

“Whatever, man. You’re a werewolf, right?”

There’s a comical pause where Stiles tries, he really does, not to grin, but the wide eyed _oh shit_ expression on the other man’s face is just too good. He smirks, sitting back in the front seat.

“My best friend is a werewolf,” he explains. “And I gotta say, you must be just as terrible as him at the whole furry beast of the night thing. I didn’t think you were ever gonna wake up.”

“Scott McCall.”

Stiles pauses. “What about him?”

“Your werewolf friend. It’s Scott, right? You’re Stiles.”

“My reputation precedes me, huh?”

“Something like that.” There’s a kind of sarcastic, mocking quality to the words and Stiles lifts his middle finger in response.

“So you know who I am. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my car? _Again_?” 

“Isaac Lahey. Derek Hale’s my alpha.”

Stiles knows both names. He knows of Derek, a born werewolf; the last surviving member of a werewolf family that’s been in Beacon Hills for decades. He’s an alpha, lives just on the outskirts of the preserve; Stiles has never met him, but he knows Scott has. They have a sort of mutual agreement: Scott doesn’t want to be part of the pack, and Derek leaves him alone, but occasionally, Stiles knows Scott has gone to Derek for help or advice. Stiles recognizes Isaac’s name from Scott telling him a little bit about Derek and his pack.

“You didn’t answer my second question,” he says, “But I have a third.”

Isaac doesn’t look like he’ll answer either, but he stays silent, so Stiles decides to go ahead and ask anyway.

“We’re in the middle of a July heatwave. Why the fuck are you wearing a scarf?”

Isaac’s response to the antagonism is to offer a little sarcastic smirk in response, holding Stiles’ gaze. 

_He’s handsome_ , Stiles thinks absently. With his high cheekbones, curls and jawline, not to mention the pale eyes and firm chest, he’s good looking. He’s giving off those asshole vibes, the kind of sarcasm Stiles has always either got along famously with or found annoying as fuck (in this case it’s the latter), and yet...only minutes ago, he’d been terrified, panicked. Stiles doesn’t know why, but he can tell Isaac’s been through something.

A few quiet minutes tick by. Stiles is going to be late for work again but he’s too curious; he needs to have some kind of idea of why Isaac’s turned up asleep in his jeep twice now. He needs to know if it’ll happen again, so he can try to reinforce the door or something. Or maybe move.

“Sometimes on the full moon, I...lose control a little. Relive some memories, not good ones.” Isaac’s voice is quiet and he doesn’t look at Stiles. “I don’t really remember much. I just wake up here.”

Stiles gives him a wary look. “I’m not gonna find a dead deer or wake up to discover you’ve ripped my jeep apart or anything, right?”

“Fuck off,” Isaac snipes back. “I just...sleep.”

“Hardcore.”

Isaac doesn’t speak again after that and after a moment, Stiles wordlessly starts the engine. He drives to the same street as before, stops by the same house, and Isaac climbs out without a word. Stiles waits until Isaac’s gone inside before driving away.

 

***

Stiles is half expecting it the third time it happens; he’s been waiting for the next full moon, curious to see if Isaac will show up again. 

He hasn’t seen him around town now he’s kinda looking for him, curious. But he hasn’t seen him once since the second time he’d shown up in Stiles’ jeep. Stiles has a sort of motto he’s adopted from his dad: one’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, three’s a pattern. So if Isaac shows up again, Stiles needs to seriously try and sort this out, because there’s no way he can deal with an attractive werewolf taking siestas in his jeep every month (not to mention the costs for repairs).

Stiles leaves his house a little late; he hasn’t got work and he’s managed a lie in before dragging himself out of bed for brunch with Lydia. Too busy trying to decide whether he’ll have the eggs and bacon or the pancakes, he doesn’t fully realize that it’s the morning after the full moon until he spots a familiar tall figure climbing out of his jeep.

“Hey,” he calls.

Isaac doesn’t turn, but there’s no way he didn’t hear Stiles, partly because Stiles can be loud when he wants to be, mostly because he’s a freaking werewolf. But Isaac just walks off. Stiles watches him until he disappears before approaching the jeep. With a sigh, he notes that the door is damaged again, but this time, he’s up too late to catch Isaac sleeping.

He actually feels a little disappointed as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He responds to a message from Lydia before setting off, trying to keep Isaac off his mind, but he can’t, not really; he wants to know why Isaac keeps showing up. He gets that maybe Isaac can’t control it when he’s wolfed out, but there has to be a reason _why_ and now it’s niggling at him, Stiles _has_ to know.

It isn’t until he parks and reaches for his wallet in the console that he notices the money. Frowning, he picks up a thick roll of notes, counting through them; enough to cover both repairs he’s already had done, plus the one he’ll have to do now. It has to be from Isaac and he just sits there for a moment, surprised. He’d told Isaac he owed him, but he’d never expected Isaac to actually give him any money, let alone this much.

It’s stupid. Isaac broke the door in the first place. And yet the gesture warms Stiles’ heart because it’s so...sweet, actually.

He groans, dropping his head back against the seat. “Damn it.”

 

***

“So he just...sleeps?”

Stiles nods, taking in the scrunched up, confused expression on his best friend’s face. Scott wrinkles his nose more, stabbing a fry into the puddle of ketchup on his plate. 

“But why?”

“How the hell would I know?” Stiles asks. “If I knew _why_ , I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“I don’t know!” Scott throws his hands up helplessly. “It’s just weird, I know that much.”

“He said it happens when he loses control. So it’s like...werewolf instinct, right? Do you get anything like that?”

Scott considers for a moment. While he’s distracted, Stiles quickly snags a fry from his plate, coating it in ketchup before shoving it in his mouth. Scott doesn’t even notice.

“I mean, when I’m...scared or angry or anything like that, my wolf wants Allison and Kira,” he says after a moment, puppy dog eyes going all soft as he mentions his girlfriends. He’s got that goofy, loved up smile on his face and Stiles knows this is going to go super gross super fast. “I’ve turned up at both their houses before, needing cuddles.”

_Jesus_.

“Okay, but...you’ve never broken into their cars to sleep?”

“No. That’s just weird, dude.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Stiles grumbles. “But, like...I don’t think it’s like how you are with Kira and Allison. I mean, I’d never met him until that first time.”

Scott shrugs. “You could ask him.”

“I have. He’s even better at avoiding honesty than me. It’s admirable, really.”

Scott doesn’t reply. He’s looking at Stiles with this kind of considering look on his face, lips pursed slightly, and Stiles really doesn’t like that look, especially not on Scott. He knows he isn’t going to like what Scott’s thinking.

“You must have _something_ ,” Stiles says quickly, deterring Scott from whatever it is he’s considering.

"You could talk to Derek." 

Stiles blinks.

Blinks again.

“No way in hell am I going to talk to Scary McAssface. What’s wrong with you?”

“He’s not that bad, really. He’s kinda cool, actually, when you get to know him.” 

“Scott, I have literally never met Darth Hale, but from everything you’ve told me about him, I’m already batshit scared of him.”

“He knows more about this stuff. You can ask him about it. Maybe he can get Isaac to stop it.” Scott suggests.

Stiles pauses at that. Does he really _want_ Isaac to stop? If he was any kind of sane, normal person, hell yes he would, but maybe there’s something wrong with him, because he kind of...doesn’t. He wants answers, he wants to know what’s going on, but he’s not entirely sure he wants Isaac to stop showing up.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “So, how’s work?”

 

***

Isaac doesn’t show up at the next full moon. Stiles can’t help but feel disappointed, but then he really thinks about it, and he’s actually glad. Isaac said it happens when he loses control. So...maybe he hasn’t lost control this time and that’s good. He’s _happy_ for him.

Still, he actually feels a little bit lonely as he drives to work. He wonders if maybe he won’t see Isaac again; maybe now he’s got that full control and he won’t show up again. He hasn’t seen Isaac at all around town (he’d once given into being dangerously close to stalker territory by driving by Isaac’s house, but he’d seen no sign of life inside) so he knows the chances are that he won’t see Isaac again at all. And he actually feels a little bit disheartened at that.

He mopes a little over the next few days. If his friends pick up on it, they don’t mention it, and he’s glad for that at least. He doesn’t know how he’ll explain that he feels weirdly rejected. He can’t even explain it to himself.

By the end of the week, they’ve transitioned into a thick July heatwave. Stiles pushes Isaac out of his mind, too hot and uncomfortable to think about anything else but finally getting to the weekend and going to the lake with the others. When Saturday rolls round, Stiles packs his bag with his swimming gear and heads out to the jeep, climbing inside and turning to toss the bag in his bag...only for the bag to bounce off Isaac’s head.

“What the fuck?” the werewolf demands, still groggy from sleep.

“What the _fuck_?” Stiles echoes, staring at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was sleeping.”

“Woah, no, you don’t get to be all grumpy with me, assface. You’ve broken into my jeep. Again.”

“I didn’t. The window was open.”

“What?”

“The window,” Isaac nods to the passenger window, which is, indeed, half open. “You left it open.”

_Well, shit_ , Stiles thinks. “Okay, but only a tiny bit. How did you even fit?”

“I’m bendy.”

_Holy fuck_. Stiles’ lips part at that and he clears his throat, forcefully removing several images from his mind. “It still counts as breaking in.” 

Isaac sits up, scratching at his neck under his scarf, and just gives Stiles an annoyed look. 

“It wasn’t a full moon last night.”

“I said it happens when I lose control.”

Stiles pauses at that, looking at him, and he finally notices the specks of blood on Isaac’s shirt. “Did you get into a fight?”

Isaac gives a sharp nod. 

“Did you...I mean. Is the other guy alive?”

“Fuck you.”

Stiles holds his hands up. “I’m just saying...please tell me that’s your blood.”

“It is. Derek intervened. I ran.”

“And ended up here,” Stiles sighs, shaking his head. “You’ve got to stop this, you know.”

“Do you think if I had any kind of control over it, I’d _want_ to be here?”

Stiles shakes his head and starts the engine. “You should be careful. It’s really hot out at the moment. It’s like leaving dogs in the car, right? You could overheat and I...you know. Don’t want that to happen.”

When he glances in the rearview mirror, Isaac’s lowered his head so all Stiles can see is his curls, and for a second Stiles thinks he’s pissed him off with the dog comment, but then he notices Isaac’s shoulders are shaking. He’s _laughing_.

Stiles bites his lip to hide his own grin and sets off. 

 

***

It’s a regular occurrence after that. At least once a week, he finds Isaac asleep in his jeep. If he’s in a good mood, he lets him keep sleeping until he pulls up outside Isaac’s house. If he’s in a bad mood, he wakes Isaac up and they end up sniping at each other, swapping sarcastic comments the whole drive. Still, Stiles always gives him a ride, and Isaac always leaves money for repairs. 

Once, Stiles wonders what would happen if the jeep isn’t even there. On the next full moon, he parks his jeep in Scott’s garage and walks home. 

The next morning, he leaves the house, only to find Isaac asleep on the _lawn_.

Guilt hits him hard. He’d figured Isaac would just go somewhere else, or home. Not...fall asleep outside. 

He wakes Isaac gently, guilt chewing him up. Isaac isn’t his usual witty self, just sleepy, rubbing his eyes as he sits up.

“Have you ever considered just breaking into the house? I have a pretty comfy couch,” Stiles says, offering a small smile. 

Isaac just shakes his head, getting to his feet. “I wouldn’t want to do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles adds. “I didn’t...I didn’t think you’d sleep on the grass.”

Isaac looks at him for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure him out. Stiles half expects a sarcastic remark, but Isaac just reaches out and gives his shoulder a little squeeze. They don’t talk after that and Stiles walks Isaac to the bus stop, making sure he gets the right one to get home.

After that, Stiles leaves a pillow and blanket in the back of the jeep. It’s becoming almost routine. It’s _weird_ , something he’s reminded of every time he brings it up around his friends, but it’s become a normal part of Stiles’ life, and he kind of doesn’t want it to stop. As much as he and Isaac snipe at each other, they get along pretty well and they have a lot in common. Stiles _likes_ him. He doesn’t want Isaac to stop showing up and bringing something a little more exciting to his morning commutes.

Scott eventually tells him about Isaac’s past. About the terrible things his father did to him. And Stiles gets it, then, why Isaac freaked out so much, until he got used to Stiles. After discovering this, he’s gentler when he wakes Isaac, not wanting to scare him. 

It’s still niggling at him, though. _Why_? Why does Isaac keep showing up? Why, when his wolf is scared, does it keeping coming to his jeep? Eventually, Stiles decides that if he’s not going to get the answers from Isaac, he’s at least going to get them from _somewhere_ , and he grabs both sets of keys to the jeep before driving out to the Hale house.

He knows from Scott that Isaac lives with Derek in the house, yet, every time Stiles has given him a ride, he’s asked to be dropped off at his old house. With his dad dead and buried (an incident with a kanima, apparently, a monster Stiles was lucky enough not to run into), the house went up for sale. Eventually, someone else will be living there, and Isaac can’t just keep going inside when he needs to be alone. Stiles wonders what he’ll do then and if Derek knows about it.

Stiles remembers the old Hale house; huge, traditional and gorgeous, set against the beautiful backdrop of the preserve. A proper porch, a tire swing out the back, lots of room for all the little ones to run about. He also remembers the first time he saw it after the fire, when he and Scott were still just kids messing about in the woods; a crumbling, burnt out husk of a home, slowly eroding in on itself. 

The new house is nothing like that.

(New being a liberal term – Stiles knows it was rebuilt when he was around seventeen; the whole town had been talking about Derek Hale coming home and rebuilding his life after the fire.) Derek must have torn down the whole thing and started from scratch; it’s a little smaller, simple but nice, kind of modern, actually. Stiles likes it. He wonders if it was an effort to not be reminded of the fire every time he sees the house; if it’s so different, it can’t bring back memories.

There’s only one car parked outside, a sleek Camaro. Stiles knocks on the door, trying not to be nervous, and shoves his hands in his pockets as he waits.

He’s never met Derek and as far as he knows, he’s never seen him around town – but, from what Scott has says, if he had, he’d definitely know about it. Scott had once described him as “a mix between an asshole banker and a serial killer with a beard”. When the door opens, he kind of gets what Scott means; Derek looks unhappy and very strong. Strong enough to crush Stiles’ bones with very little effort.

“Um.”

One eyebrow ticks up. “In,” Derek steps aside.

_O....kay..._

The inside of the house is as plain and simple as the outside, but on the whole, it’s kinda pleasing to the eye. It’s not cluttered and cramped like Stiles’ apartment, anyway. It just lacks personal touches, which throws off this kind of cold vibe. 

He trails after Derek to the kitchen. The alpha points to the kitchen island and Stiles obediently slips onto one of the stools, watching, bemused, as Derek starts preparing tea.

“So, er, we’ve never met, but I’m -.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles frowns. “Yeah. How...?”

“I’ve seen you before.”

Something about that kinda translates to _I’ve watched you before_ and Stiles swallows. “Okay, then. Can you maybe tone down the creepy vibes?”

Derek snorts. “Scott and Isaac talk about you a lot,” he adds, “And I think anyone in town knows who owns that piece of junk jeep.”

“Hey!” Stiles sits up straighter. “She is not a heap of junk. She’s...an acquired taste.”

Derek slides a cup of tea towards him and sits down opposite. “What do you want?”

“I’m just...I want answers. Isaac keeps showing up, right? When he loses control and -.”

“You’re still buying that?”

Derailed, Stiles stares at him for a moment. “I...what?”

“At first, sure, when Isaac lost control a couple of times, his wolf sought you out. But Isaac has incredible control. I taught him better than to flip out so much.” 

“ _Sought_ me out?” Stiles repeats, confused. “He shows up in my jeep. And he says it’s because he lost control.”

“He seeks out your scent,” Derek clarifies, “Because it’s comforting, soothing.”

“ _Why_?”

Derek levels him with an unimpressed look. “Do you really need me to answer that? Scott said you’re smart.”

Stiles gives him a sulky look, taking a drink of tea. He mulls it over for a while, not really sure how to take this news. But, he’d wanted answers, and now he has them. He just doesn’t really know what to do now.

“Why are you here, Stiles?”

Stiles looks up. He hates that he doesn’t even know Derek, yet the older man is giving him such a deep, knowing look. Like he’s actually amused by all this. 

After a moment, he takes a deep breath and tugs the spare key to his jeep out of his pocket. He wordlessly slides it over the counter and Derek takes it. Stiles doesn’t bother to finish his tea, just stands, and Derek does too, seeing him to the door.

“Stiles,” he says.

Stiles stops, looks over his shoulder.

“Don’t hurt him.”

He gets then that, yeah, Derek can be seriously scary sometimes. He gives a quick nod and scrambles to his jeep; by the time he’s in and the door’s shut, Derek’s disappeared. Probably laughing to himself, the asshole.

 

***

Nine days.

Nine days since he last saw Isaac. 

Stiles hasn’t seen him since before his visit to Derek and he’s starting to freak out. What if Isaac’s pissed off with him, or freaking out that Stiles knows the truth? What if Isaac’s avoiding him?

Shit, what if Isaac never shows up again?

Realistically, he knows he can just go to Derek’s and ambush Isaac there, but he doesn’t like that idea. He doesn’t want to ambush Isaac, or hunt him down; he wants Isaac to show up in his jeep, just like this all started. He wants...

He doesn’t really know what he wants, and maybe that’s the most frustrating part of the whole thing.

He rants to Scott about the whole thing, who just sits there and listens and nods, because while Scott can’t always give the best advice, he can totally listen and listen well. He rants to Lydia, who gives him some filthy, _filthy_ advice, and Stiles decides maybe that wasn’t his best idea. He even rants to his dad, who just looks so done by the time Stiles is finished.

“Let me get this straight,” he says. “A werewolf keeps breaking into your jeep. A werewolf that you want to...date?”

Stiles shrugs. “Kinda?”

His dad takes a quick gulp of whisky and changes the subject.

By the time another week passes, Stiles has kind of given up. It’s obvious Isaac doesn’t want the same thing. And it sucks, not just because Stiles still wants to the kiss the fuck out of him, but also because he’s sort of lost a friend. A bizarre kind of friendship, maybe, but he’s going to miss Isaac bugging the hell out of him on his morning commutes. He’s going to miss their little snipes and Isaac’s little grin when he thinks Stiles isn’t looking. He just...he misses _Isaac_.

So when the werewolf shows up Monday morning, sat in the passenger seat of Stiles’ jeep, Stiles feels his heart give this little happy flutter...quickly followed by a rush of _fuck you_ anger. 

He climbs into the driver’s seat, snapping the belt into place, and then just sits there, unsure what to say. Isaac glances at him, looking nervous, and Stiles makes an effort to not look so mad, because he doesn’t want to actually upset Isaac. At all. Isaac finds him and his scent comforting; he wants to be that, wants to be someone gentle, soothing, an anchor for Isaac. Someone Isaac doesn’t have to be afraid of, ever.

“Please tell me you didn’t break the door again.”

Isaac purses his lips to hide a smile and holds up the spare key. Stiles feels a little thrill at that and clears his throat.

“I’m mad at you,” he says instead, “You’ve been avoiding me, you butthead.”

Isaac looks away. “Derek told me about his conversation with you. I wasn’t sure...”

“If you’d be welcome? I gave you a key, genius.” It comes out a lot fonder than Stiles’ intends, but he’s glad because it makes Isaac smile.

“I wasn’t sure if you really wanted it. Mates is a...big thing. I wanted to give you time to actually think about it first.”

“Well, I’ve had time. And I’m upset you avoided me. But, mostly, I missed you, a whole lot,” Stiles replies honestly. “Mates is a big thing. But maybe we can start with a date? Preferably one that doesn’t start out with you fast asleep in the back.”

Isaac grins. “Coffee,” he says, holding out a Styrofoam cup. “Derek said I should start with coffee.”

Stiles looks from the coffee to Isaac’s happy, earnest face, and says, “Fuck it.” 

He pulls over, unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans across, kissing him. It’s slow and gentle and fucking _great_ ; Isaac’s all warm and kind of cuddly, actually, and slender fingers slide into Stiles’ hair, tugging slightly as Isaac kisses him back. 

He leans in for more, trying to deepen the kiss, but in the cramped space, ends up losing his balance and sprawls over, face in his Isaac’s crotch.

Which is when there’s a tap on the window.

“Oh, shit,” Isaac whispers.

Stiles quickly sits up and meets the Sheriff’s gaze. Next to him, Isaac is bright red as Stiles cranks the window down.

“Hi, dad,” he offers sheepishly. “Dad, this is Isaac. Isaac, my dad.” 

Isaac makes a sound that’s as pained as Stiles’ dad looks, followed by a quiet, “ _Oh shit_.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: maliaslydiamartin.tumblr.com


End file.
